


What Makes Her Special

by tsukisoras



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, New Year's Fluff, Post-Canon, Prompt Fill, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 02:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9156946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukisoras/pseuds/tsukisoras
Summary: She doesn’t realize the effect she has on him. Or at least not yet. And the longer he sits there, watching her, gazing at her, suffering in silence with a light amount of booze in his system, the more he desires her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for anonymous on Tumblr who messaged me about Jean confessing to Historia on New Year's. Okay, so it may not have been a prompt but it was too good to resist!

She doesn’t realize the effect she has on him. Or at least not yet. And the longer he sits there, watching her, gazing at her, suffering in silence with a light amount of booze in his system, the more he desires her. 

Jean doesn’t remember picking up the shot glass ( and quite frankly, he doesn’t care enough to think it through ), but now he feels alive. He’s only had a few drinks, and yet the object of his affection began to glow with radiance the more he drank.

Historia is a goddess. Screw Christa. What makes Historia special to him are the qualities that make her who she is - not some dumb fantasy that captured the attention of many. He’s not gonna lie. He fell under her spell. He was already attracted to her. She was cute and had an adorable laugh and the urge to boop her nose was constantly resisted because she always had a shadow following her around the time. Back when they were trainees it was hard to communicate with her for more than two seconds without being shut down.

Now that she is coming into her own, with a fire inside her that rivals him and Eren, he began to see her in a new light. She had aspects to her personality that sparked his interest in her. She was soft. She was hard. She was honest. She built all of her relationships from scratch, including him. He never knew he could carry a conversation with her until the opportunity presented itself one brisk evening outside the palace during one of the squad’s frequent visits. He ended up opening up to her about his mother and how much he missed her, how he hoped that she was proud of him. She couldn’t relate to his situation, but she was a good listener, hummed between intervals, and told him, “Yes. Your mother would be very proud of you.” followed by an unexpected, “I like the person you are now. You’re a good leader, Jean.”

And then he started thinking about Marco and his throat constricted and he managed a tight lipped smile and a low, “Thank you, Historia.”

Her small arm slipped through the space between his arm and torso, dainty hands cupping around the juncture that separates his forearm and tricep, and the two fair haired teens continued their walk around the lake. The cherry blossoms were in bloom. Sakura petals floated gracefully through the air and the hairs on his arm stood on end, but she didn’t notice. Nor was she aware of the rosy tint in his cheeks when she began to pick petals from his tresses.

Jean smiles to himself at the memory before dipping his head back for another shot. He tries to be discreet in sneaking another glance at her but, like always, he ends up openly gazing at her like the lovesick fool he is instead.

She’s dancing with Mikasa. Jean’s surprised that the blonde was able to steer the raven for her suicidal bastard of a boyfriend for more than two seconds to hang out with her. Nonetheless, though, Mikasa appears to be enjoying herself, even if a full smile never spreads across her exotic, ivory features. They sway at arms length, sometimes holding hands, sometimes gripping the other’s arms, a twirl here, a giggle there. It’s not slow dancing per se. Their pacing is actually very moderate.

This wouldn’t be the first time Jean has envied Mikasa. And it definitely won’t be the last.

_ You won’t get what you want by sitting on your ass, _ the small voice in his head points out.  _ The more you sit here, the more time you waste. You could be having the time of your life with the girl of your dreams, but no! Keep drinking. Get wasted. Miss this opportunity. You’ll never get this back, you know. You’ll regret your silence if you don’t. Move. _

Jean’s fist balls up with determination. Sometimes his self-talk gets depressing, and just downright brutal, but it’s what he needs. He downs the rest of the alcohol left in the glass, which is a pitiful amount really but he could care less about that right now, and pushes himself out of the chair. Striding over to the center of the floor with his eyes for her and only her.

_ God _ , he hopes his breath doesn’t reek. 

“Oi, Historia!” He has his hand in the air, waves in her direction when she turns at the sound of his voice, and maintains his composure with difficulty as she smiles at him.

“Finally joining the living?” She greets him when he’s close enough to touch her, appraising him from head to toe. Probably judging his state of soberness. “I thought you were going to spend the whole night in that little corner.”

“I haven’t been drinking much,” he protests. He can still walk in a straight line. He doesn’t feel dizzy. His movements aren’t sluggish.

...Okay, alright, he’s starting to feel that buzz now.

“Uh huh,” she says, disbelieving, but her smile is still there. “Did you come over to dance?”

He inhales. _ This is it. Don’t fuck this up. _

“Actually, I was wonderin’ if you wanted to...go for a walk with me?”

He thanks any and every entity that exists out there when she says _yes._

* * *

 

“Do you remember our last walk here?” she asks, huddling close to him, holding him just as she did in their previous endeavor.

Jean nods in reply, eyes flickering up to the cloudless night sky. The stars are out, the moon shining brightly overhead. Even after the sun goes down, the scenery is still beautiful.

But not as breathtaking as the blonde beauty on his arm.

“Is there any reason why you wanted to be out here in particular?” she asks.

“I dunno. Brings back good memories, I guess.” He exhales, shooting her an apologetic grin. “We can go inside, if you’d like. I know it’s cold.”

She smiles back halfheartedly. “Are you sure?”

So much for making this romantic. “Yeah! Yeah, ‘m sure.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

He stammers here. “A-Am I?”

“Yes. I know the type of person you are, Jean. If you wanted to talk to me, I would trust that you would talk to me at that given time.” She stops walking, shifting in front of him to look him directly in the eye. “But I can see that you wanted us to be alone so we can talk privately, so it must be important. Right?”

_ Damn.  _

“Yeah...yeah, you’re right,” he mumbles.

“And you’re going to tell me what’s been going on with you?” Historia tilts her head to the side, gazing up at him through those long eyelashes of hers. The look alone makes his heart want to burst out of his chest. 

“What are you talking about?” Jean begins to panic. How much does she know?

“Well, let’s see.” Historia folds her arms across her chest. “You’ve been antisocial all night. I wouldn’t be concerned about this behavior because you close yourself off sometimes anyway, even when you’re around us. But what stuck out to me was that you spent the entire night alone. I just want to know why. I invited you and the others here so we can be together for the new year. Am I that selfish?”

“No.” His heart feels heavy now. “You’re not.”

“It would’ve made me feel better if I saw you and Eren go at it because that’s how you two are. You declined Connie’s offer to dance with him, and even Sasha is worried about you. We all are.”

Had he really upset her? Affected her this much? How did he let this happen? This was supposed to be the night he confesses his feelings for her, and he’s already made her sad. Ugh...tonight is going straight to _shit!_

“Historia…” he tries. “I’m sorry. I was thinking -”

“About _what?”_ she interjects. “Tell me the truth!”

“You _really_ wanna know?” His voice rises ever so slightly. Not high enough to detect hostility, but enough to forewarn her that he had a lot on his mind and he was gonna give it to her. Every bit.

Meanwhile, in the distance, as he speaks, the countdown begins.

He has sixty seconds.

“All night I’ve been fighting this thing that I can’t shake, okay? It’s been going on for a while now and I don’t know how to get it out of me. It’s hard to express how I’m feeling because everything comes out wrong and I fuck things up. And I’m afraid that - if I _do_ say what I feel, then -”

“Then what?” she queries quietly.

“Then it’ll...mess up what I have with the one person I care about the most, Historia. And that’s you.”

He can just _hear_ her breath catch in her throat.

“Jean…” she breathes.

Thirty seconds.

“Let me get this out before I punk out, okay?” he chokes out, taking her small hand in his grasp. “Believe me when I say that I wanted to talk to you all night. I just didn’t know how to approach you. I know that sounds stupid, but...when I’m around you, I don’t know what to say. You make me so goddamn nervous,” he laughs weakly, and it elicits a soft one from her. She doesn’t move away from him, even as he moves just a little closer, lifting their entwined hands. “I didn’t want to look stupid.”

Fifteen seconds.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is…” Light brown hues gaze deeply into sea blues. He lets himself drown in them. Into _her_. Putting all of his emotions out on the table. “I like you, Historia. A lot.”

Ten seconds.

Historia trembles in his grip, chewing down on her bottom lip. She does not shake from fear. It’s disbelief, mixed with anticipation and everything that is warm and fuzzy and makes her own heart race. “How long…?” 

Five seconds.

“Ever since you punched Captain Levi.” His forefingers trace her bottom lip, watching those rosy petals fall agape upon his touch, her eyes drifting down to watch the sensual movement before her gaze meets his again. Bringing their faces closer. _Four. Three._ “That’s stupid, right?” he whispers huskily.

Nose to nose. 

_“Not at all,”_ Historia breathes back.

Midnight hits, screams of euphoria fill the air as the new year rings in, but his lips are on hers and time comes to a standstill. It’s just him and her, Jean and Historia, and nothing else matters. 

Nothing else could matter ever again. And he’s _okay_ with that.


End file.
